Tangled...

...in crisp, white hotel linens, I shrug and yawn away the remnants of last night's wine. In the millisecond it takes to gather my bearings...there is his hand, pushing away the tangled mess of hair from my eyes and pulling me closer. There you are Boy...

Here we are...memories of the night resurface and I press my face into his back, breathing him in...arms and legs migrating to familiar places, nearly impossible to tell where he ends and I begin. The city lies at the foot of our king-sized bed...snow-capped bridges and water for days. We pull up the covers and relive the night...


My Christmas gift to Boy this year was a night on the town. And I didn't want it to be just any night, but a memorable one. One, where years later you are still saying...now that was a good night. He deserves it. His generosity continues to humble me and I just wanted to say...thank you...I am truly the luckiest. So...

...the bellhop swung open the door, revealing a view that knocked the breath from my chest. Two walls of windows, chilled from the swirl of winter...and the city beyond. A marvel. We pressed our noses to the glass, briefly obscuring the view of the ballpark with our breath...wiping it clean to reveal barges and boats and ambulances blaring. Knees on the ledge...can you get higher? What do you see?! Like kids on Christmas morning, we jumped on the bed and chuckled at the people scampering about in the freezing cold. We poured the first glass of wine and toasted to us. I love you. Yep. Pretty much forever. We chatted and snacked and rested and looked at each other...and then back to the windows again.  What a view. We might have kissed a few hundred times.

At some point we tugged on jeans and pushed feet into boots. Sprayed perfume and brushed hair. Who has the car keys and room keys and how do I look? Gorgeous. Look at you. Take my hand...HURRY UP!...the wine-tasting is upon us...

...behind a non-descript city door lay a small local winery, offering cheap tastings and free stories. An eclectic mix of Pittsburghers mingle amongst the wine wares...an oenophile's dream. The warehouse-type atmosphere is chilly, yet surprisingly comforting. Boy and I taste and talk...cheeks growing rosier by the glass. Laughs get louder and longer as we huddle closer, inspecting the odd knick-knacks on the shelves. We are social, but not overly so. This night is just for us. The final tasting reminds us of our dinner reservations and we hustle into coats and out into the frigid night air...

...and into the warmth of the last leg of the night. It's all fireplaces and fur coats. Low, close conversations and lights so dim that you have to hold the menu a heartbeat away from your face. The wine has taken hold and we're all smiles, grinning wide for our waiter who is also a sommelier. He tells us he is wearing his daughter's headband to hold back his long locks, and we can't help but concentrate on the teeth that aren't quite where God intended. So weird. But so good at the same time. We fill our bellies with scallops and shrimp and tuna and wine...wine...wine...until we fall apart in one glorious peanut butter fudge finale. Smacking our lips and licking our fingers, we laugh like idiots...especially when the bill arrives. Who cares...I pretty much love you forever...

Hustling into coats one last time we head back...to frost those windowpanes one last time...and wake...tangled...in each other. 

An Interview with Pink....

The other night, at the dinner table, Pink asked me...Is your blood in my blood Mommy?

And so began a question and answer session that blew my mind. Her self-awareness had finally taken root and she wanted to know...

When was the first moment you knew you loved me?
What are we when we die?
What is ashes? Is it like sand?
Where was I before I was with you?
Do you love me more than Tink?
How did you hold me when I came out? Did I scream? Laugh? Cry?

And the best of all...

Do you know how to do the robot?

It was a moment in time when I realized that this life is not about me. It's about her. Them. I am a vessel. A means through which wisdom and grace is relayed. She was listening. Waiting. Wondering. Mommy tell me. And so we talked, for hours. And I answered every question from the perspective of who I hope she'll become. Thoughtful. Reflective. Better than me. That is my job. To instill thought and delay pessimism. Every single second of every day we are bombarded with cynicism. The have-nots and want-mores and I'm better than yous. And so we talked.

And then, this rainy Sunday morning, I asked her some questions. Pink wants to know everything I have in my thirty-four year old arsenal. So what's in yours baby? You are now nearly six. How do you see it? Tell me. I'm listening.

What does it mean to be in love?
To love that other person as much as you love your mom.

What does it feel like to fall in love?
It's definitely like kissing and hugging...ALL AT THE SAME TIME!

What is it like to be a sister?
It's like you are so lucky that God took your best friend and put them in your house.

How much love is there for a Mommy and Daddy?
It's more than a box. Pretty much like it could fill your whole closet. But not the downstairs closet, that one's too small.

What is the best thing about a Daddy?
He actually loves you so much that he sort of likes reading to you EVERY night.

What happens when you die?
You get so tired of living that you let go. Then you sleep and dream about all the cool things you did.

What's the hardest thing about being a Mommy?
Keeping the babies quiet.

What scares you the most?
I've never seen them, but definitely coyotes. And alligators.

I think the kid's gonna be alright...

Sunday Morning...

...said I'm gonna love you forever, forever and ever amen...as long as old men sit and talk about the weather, as long as old women sit and talk about old men...

The twang of Randy Travis's voice square-danced itself up the stairs to light on my teenage ears, rousing me from sleep. Senses awakened by breakfast, sizzling and dancing in the pan. It was Sunday. The kind of morning that eased its way into every warm place. Blew its breath on a whisper and raised the hair on your neck. Made you pull  the covers to your nose and see the world, ever so slightly, from beneath the down of the comforter. I would wait for...

My mother's laughter to eventually beat the music to the punch and I would drape my gangly body over the side of the bed. Slipping on my glasses, the world became clearer and Sunday's kitchen was my destination. My parents were a mess of flannel robes and bedhead. Country radio blared. Sunday funnies littered the floor. My father, seeing me, would put his arms out and we would dance. Martina McBride, George Strait, Alan Jackson. All of our favorites showed up this morning. I was too cool for this treacly show, but, no one else was here to see, so...just this once. One more time. I would dance and be...gloriously uncool.

I loved Sunday. Still do. On the rare occasion that I rise before Pink and Tink, I drag my own bleary-eyed bedraggled bedhead from the security of bed and head to the kitchen. Country radio on and butter sizzling. Crack the eggs and sing, waiting for my own little ladies to join me. Today it's Lady Antebellum....Hello world, how ya been....good to see you my old friend. Sometimes I feel...cold as steel...broken like I'm never gonna heal.

Tiny giggles pierce through my Sugarland sonata and I know it's time. Making their way down the stairs, Pink and Tink are all nightgowns and smiles. We sit on the kitchen floor, each taking a turn in my lap for a few morning kisses and how ya doins and did you sleep wells... I inspect them closely. Was nighttime kind? Are they still my babies? They are. Brought back to me on Sunday.

Pink puts her face close to mine and sings...Lover, lover, lover...you don't treat me no good no more...

And we laugh out loud...gloriously uncool...

The Parachute...

There are very few moments of pure bliss as we age. Bliss is the stuff of children. Pure, unadulterated exhilaration and excitement for life. As parents...caregivers...teachers....we try to protect and preserve the bliss within our children.

Smiles and giggles not laced with worry and regret. Nighttime slumber thick with the dalliances of sugar plum fairies instead of to-do lists a mile long.  We see our children for what they really are and hope the rest of the world does as well. Gorgeous, soft creatures. Cheeks deep and welcoming to our never-ending kisses. We examine their little bodies in rapt wonder. Lithe and lanky, pudgy and short. Eyelashes running wild from the blue beneath. Tiny hands that reach around our waists for comfort. Bursts of breath that remind us of that first one time and again. Never doubting that they are created just as was intended. They observe their reflections and see nothing but beauty. They would never think to do anything else, but live. Happily.


At their gymnastics class last week, the instructors pulled out the parachute. Remember it? The kids scream with excitement. It is pure bliss in rainbow stripes. They tug and pull at this nylon dream, raising it high above their heads. On the teacher's signal, they pull it down around their tiny bodies and sit on the inside, shutting out the world. I can hear their laughter as it pierces through the shield...the instructor pulls it away and they are all static cling and smiles. Running back to us...teeth visible from ear to ear. Bliss.

At this holiday time, I encourage each and everyone of us to find our parachute. What is that one thing that truly turns up the corner of your mouth? That one thing that makes you say...It doesn't get much better than this. That makes you feel like a kid again.  And then let yourself enjoy it. Wrap it around you and squeal in delight...over and over.

For Rent...

There was a moment last week, when I questioned my mortality. It was an abnormal reading of a normal test that ultimately turned out to be...nothing.

But for a few days...I thought...what if?

And then I thought...this body isn't even mine. It's been loaned to me in good faith by something bigger than I could ever fathom. Something bigger than I've ever had the faith to believe.

I am a renter. Of this life and this body. And I thought...

What will be seen when all the chips are cashed in? All the lights turned low and the orchestra is swelling in one final, glorious encore. When I turn this body back in...completely changed from the moment it was given to me. What will it look like? Some answers I have and some will come with time...as life takes its toll on this ramshackle rental. Held together with grit and glue. Too much chardonnay and not enough sleep.

Maybe I'll get a chance to stand outside of myself and look at "her".  Who was she?

And she'll laugh...at that ridiculous tattoo. She was 18 when she imprinted her body with rebellion. Over time the colors faded and the image stretched and pulled with the life of someone else. Two "someone elses". Two...who...want an explanation for that ridiculous tattoo.

And her fingers will trace, lovingly, that scar. Deep and crooked. Two lives wrenched free from the grip of her...and sewn back hastily. It is a battle wound. She wears it like a badge of honor. Because it is.

And that other scar...above her lip. From the day she dove headfirst into her parent's dresser and truly felt the safety of her mother's arms. Boys would point out that scar for years and she would always be reminded of...her mother.

And those legs...worn smooth from those girls ever growing bodies.
And those lips...kissed by true love.

And that life...rented...but owned...
...and loved...

Girl Everlasting...

In school, I am reading Tuck Everlasting with my students. It's a tale of a family who happens upon a spring that bestows upon them eternal life. They keep the secret for eighty-seven years until a young girl, Winnie, discovers them and learns of their immortality. The father, Angus Tuck, tries to impress upon Winnie that eternal life is not all it's cracked up to be...If I knowed how to climb back on the wheel, I'd do it in a minute. You can't have living without dying, so you can't call it living, what we got. We just are, we just be, like rocks beside the road. 

I don't think any of us out there hope to just "be". To just take up space until our space is filled by another. But so many of us do, don't we?

We wait...
...for the work week to be over
...to make more money
...for the storm to pass
...for the cold to break
...for heartbreak to heal
...for the child to sleep
...for her to love you
...to see if he'll leave
...for the perfect moment to take that leap

But what if we've already done it? What if we've already been and lived and seen and done? What if we let go of the waiting and acknowledged the living?

And I don't consider my life to be of any great importance or interest but I've...

....kicked my legs high while the band marched on
...moved my tassel, twice,  and started a new adventure
...fallen in heart-stopping, bone-crushing love....quite a few times
...felt the sun on my face from distant countries
...opened the box and pulled out the ring
...shopped for a wedding dress with my mother
...seen two pink lines
...watched my body swell with life...twice
...fallen in heart-stopping, bone-crushing love...with a child
....broken bread with friends and family who know my real story
...let down my guard
...built up walls
...gave up and gave in
...admitted I couldn't do it all
...found him
...accepted and acknowledged
...loved

Don't waste your time waiting for what is to come....it is already here.

Pause My Life...

There's never enough time is there?

Time for smelling the roses and whatnot. So, I've started thinking, lately, how I'd like to pause those sweeter moments in life and really dissect them. Observe them with a magnifying glass and leave my mark upon them. Let the recipient know that I, was in fact, here. I saw it all and savored it well.


My girls are growing like weeds before my eyes. I was holding hands with Pink the other day and noticed that she is no longer a baby. She is a little lady, standing tall, talking about life with me in terms I can understand. If I could have paused her then...right there...I would have. And I would have looked at her hands, how they fit tenderly in mine. I would have bent down and memorized every freckle left over from a summer truly enjoyed. I would have memorized her voice, just as it is now. Tiny and unfettered, yet showing signs of the girl she is to become. She is so beautiful.

And I would pause my little Tink as she excitedly recounted her day at school as the Big Bad Wolf. Pause. Right there. Blond hair wild and voice, high and mighty, like a sprite. I would breathe in her light, the brightness that begins at her toes and escapes from her blue eyes, like nighttime escaping the sunrise. She is so full of life.

And I would pause my Boy. My love for him has exploded over the last year. Sometimes I feel my heart can barely contain it. Pause. Right there in Mexico. I would pause him and really feel his hands on mine. His eyes dancing with laughter. I would feel the weight of him and memorize the lines on his face. He is such a gift.

And then I would hit play and watch their lives unfold before me and intertwine with mine. Thankful.